jealousy - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
Stupid Eric is giggling again, unmanly it is, his muscles are shaking and tears stream from his half closed eyes. I hold my breath behind pursed lips to steel myself against the gales of laughter to come. They always do. I know what's happened, Sarah just told a lame joke and now their bonding over it in their j-crew vanilla clothes. Well I won't be here next week, I'm off to Hawaii by myself. The brochure looks amazing and I'm travelling first class all the way. Now Eric's telling some lame story about his kid, I know he is without listening to the words. His face is lit up brighter than a toothpaste commercial and he has that soft look on his face. Makes we wanna hurl. Thank God I've got a facial after work, I can put all this crap behind me and de-stress.
In the trader's market Darwin stays close. I used to leave him behind, he's safer by far at the old bank, but he has to learn how to trade. I speak to him roughly. Advertising an emotional bond is just giving your competition a way to break you, he knows this and he plays along. The contemptuous looks I used to get have changed. Their eyes flick from me to him and back again, he's strong now, not a liability but an advantage and they want him. No longer do I have to worry about the kidnappers and the filthy cannibals but now every adult who's looking at their own physical demise wants his muscle. Anyone gets too close and I butt in as if I'm protecting my servant. If they actually try something they'll find out how far I will go to keep him safe and so will I. Under that strong body he's still a kid and it kills me that all they see is a commodity they want to acquire. He's my son- my only son - and I am the only mother he recalls.
Found in Darwin's Ghost - first draft, authored by .
Jade whooshes past me as if this were her house instead of mine and perches in my favourite chair. I wait for Simon to say something but he does not. She flicks that white blonde hair to one side in what I know to be a conscious act. So I look. Dangling from her perfect lobes are diamonds set in white gold. They are exquisite, accentuating the length of her neck. They cost more than I make in a month. I realize I have held my gaze too long. Her face is one of triumph and Simon does not have the decency to be embarrassed. But then why should he? There's nothing romantic between us.
Simon's bringing his new girlfriend over. She wraps herself around him closer than food wrap and is just as transparent. She will gaze through her overly made-up eyes with her cloying vapidity, simpering softly until he tells a joke. Then she will giggle like she's three and a half. I can't say anything about it, to do so will put our friendship at risk, and that is something I won't do. Friends like him don't come along too often. Maybe if I had legs up to my neck and colourless hair he'd forget about his little tart, but let's face it, on a generous assessment I'm ordinary. I just happened to have great taste in music, go to all his gigs with him like an unpaid roadie, humping all those black suitcase in and out of the van. I can tell a joke too, not just turn on the fake laughter, and I'm good for lyric brainstorming sessions. But I'll never compete with a girl who takes her life direction from fashion magazines, starves herself and is more self absorbed than a tadpole's tail.
Even at forty Mila's mother still outshone her. Five foot seven, willowy and a face cut right from the pages of a men's magazine. Any copy of GQ would show them what she looked like in lingerie. Mila on the other hand had stopped growing at five foot three inches, had the sort of face people forgot even before they'd stopped looking at it and had gained thirty pounds since her fifteenth birthday, mostly around the hips. Mila wanted some accident to happen to that face, nothing terrible, just enough to make her ordinary too. Enough to teach her what it was like to be a nobody, to be a girl that the guys didn't trip over themselves to help. If her mother gave her dieting tips one more time she thought she might loose it altogether and take a frying pan to that delicate bone structure.
Despite the crispness of the suit and the perfect tailoring the man inside wasn't far out of high-school. Against his smooth brown skin his black hair moved in the spring breeze. It was cold enough for some to be in winter jackets still, but he made no motion to suggest he even felt it. On his feet were shiny black shoes that Freddy couldn't imagine the guy polishing himself. At his side was a case in fine brown leather. So this was the guy he had to befriend and betray. Not hard. Kids like that were always lonely and bored, just had to find the right angle. And as for the betrayal part, he didn't see a problem with that. He hated him already.
All my life, I was told that Mimi was the pretty one, the stunning, the belle of the family. And I? I was just the mousy bookworm sitting in the corner, while my numerous aunts and cousins gather around my sister like ants to a Nutella sandwich. Of course, Mimi was prettier then me.. but it wasn't fair for them to cluster closely around Mimi, since we were both bridesmaid at Auntie's wedding. They dusted on cool shimmery eyeshadow, painted her lips with gloss, and curled her long jet-black locks. While I, the younger sister, had to make do with Mom while all the other relatives primped and polished Mimi. I huffed in my seat, as my mother tried to beautify me. Mimi turned around and smiled, showing off her pearly never get cavities whites, and flipped back her hair. "You look so pretty!" She cooed, like I was some baby. "I love how the color looks on you! You look like a little angel" She smiled, sweeter then sugar. "I'm not a baby!" I explode, puffing up my scrawny 11-year old chest.
"Sorry, little sis!" She giggled, as she adjusted her sleeves. Mimi was in a perpetually good mood after being elected prom queen for the 2nd time in the roll.
"Mom!" I complained loudly, "Why can't I piece my ears or get to wear a lot of makeup like Mimi?"
My mother shook her head, her earrings tinkling from the motion. "You know the rules, sweetie pie. You get to wear makeup when you're older, until then only for special occasions. I can't believe Sophie is finally getting married" She said, turning her attention to gossip.
“She’s got some humor to her, doesn’t she.” Rouke gave her a tender smile, that only when Oriel returned one back made me suddenly very. . . protective.
“Uh, yeah. So funny. Too bad she can’t talk.” I winced. “That was inappropriate. Sorry.”
Carl had his legs crossed and was tapping his Ray-Bans on the coffee shop table, his hair was even neater than usual and his suit was new. Claire pulled out a chair and he looked up from his phone, smiling in that tense way he did when he was about to vent. She put her latte down gently and smiled just the same way she did for her patients at the hospital. They never knew the difference and neither did he.
"Did you hear about Rodger?" he began, his attempt to keep things light already waning.
"Oh, no. What about him?" Claire took another sip, trying not to loose all of her lipstick on the rim.
"He got his PhD last week, he called me, all excited. Those three letters just mean you wasted three years of your life and are massively in debt." Then despite the rising tension in his voice he snickered. "What a looser, eh?"
Claire pursed her lips. She'd known Rodger a good deal longer than Carl and he'd always been a sweetheart. Not her type, but as far as friends went, he was a keeper.